Without specifics, its rough edges all
sanded down: darkness, streetlights, car lights, train

horn, night wrapped around my shoulders, empty,
random, every so often a figure,

almost never now after two before
five: high quiet the belly of the night 

—the late night, the late, late night, when the least
worst things happen, when the least worst goes on; 

only last men, spare men, working hard men
committed to find a piece men still up

at three and trying to start something men;
vessel night, full of tricks, dark sidewalks, eyes

shining bright a voice from the shadow says
he can give what ever I think I need.